


Tiresome and Meddling

by craple



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, if you squint like REAL hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know what that means,” Jace snaps.</p>
<p>“Really,” Simon deadpans. “Cause I’m pretty sure the last time you got laid was around the time before Clary broke up with you, and that’s a long time ago, dude.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiresome and Meddling

For one thing, Simon appreciates the idea of privacy.

Being a blood-craved creature of the night has its pros and cons, the cons of which is getting up all over people’s space; something he avoids to do – as he, personally, _loathes_ when someone gets, you know, _all over him_ – until his next feeding schedule.

Last night is just any other night. Except, instead of playing xbox and fucking around the internet until dawn, Simon went out. Like, he literally did go out of the house, dressed in his most casual shirt that fits a tad bit more snug than any other shirts he owns.

Jeans tight enough to impress, sans the glasses. Simon did not feel all that different from his usual daily clothes, honestly, but the lack of his usual company, consisting mostly of Shadowhunters he barely tolerates, was very refreshing.

It made him relax, a little loose around the tongue, maybe, though it is nothing harmful. Bold in his approach and actually managed to flirt with at least half the people in the bar without feeling extremely violated when they touched his neck, or placed their hands on his thighs, or being eye-raped as he stalked through the crowd.

Contrary to popular belief, Simon does not feel a tad bit more confidence in himself or horny more than his standard level of horny. But it’s been a while since he last saw Clary, and Jace and Alec and Isabelle, and a lot has changed since then.

(Alec breaking up with Magnus, Clary and Jace’s relationship turning into utter _shit_ ; Isabelle cannot seeming to stop sleeping with every pretty downloader she meets.)

So it was actually a surprise more on his side then theirs – Jason and Drake, one a vampire and the other is _something else_ , Thy-whose-name-us-creatures-of-the-night-shan’t-spoken knows what – when Simon agreed for a one night stand. With both of them. At once.

Which, for Simon, is very. Um. _Flattering_ , is the word, he supposes. Simon could not find it in himself to care so much that night, as Jason opened him up with his fingers, his very nice fingers, whilst Drake proceeded to ruin him piece to piece by cupping him through his jeans.

“Should’ve done this – fucking ages ago,” Simon gasped, stifling a needy whine when Jason pulled his fingers out, replacing it with something else.

Drake’s laugh was sex-strained and low, the sound of it sending shivers down his spine. Jason grinned and sank his blunt human teeth into the crook of Simon’s neck. “The fucking, or the ménage a trois?”

“Both,” Simon moaned out. “Both.”

Magnus is one hell of a fantastic creature Simon _needs_ to reward ASAP.

\--

Anyway; back to the topic of privacy. Last night had been an utter fucking blast, both in metaphorical and literal sense of words, and Simon’s kind of glad his first one night stand(s) are neither jerks nor early risers.

So being the gracious host he is, Simon decides to do a little good by blocking the sunlight as far away from his flat as possible, not at all thinking of round twenty-something as he does so, enjoying the cup of coffee mixed with B Negative quite contently when the front door bursts open and one Jace Wayland steps in, his posture tense, as if ready for a fight.

Well, tough fucking _luck_ , golden boy, Simon thinks, tries to will his elongated fang to draw back.

There is nothing for Jace to take or protect here, not with him having the Mark of Cain visible even through his fringe. Not with the lack of _anything_ except for necessities such as furniture and the TV, which Simon doubts Jace has interest in, whatsoever.

“If you’re going to be a bother like you have been the last few months,” Simon drawls lazily. “Then I suggest you walk out of that door. Or, what is left of it, anyway.”

Jace looks furious. For no apparent reason. He’s definitely going to look like Grandpa Lewis before he reaches thirty. Simon processes this information with a satisfied smirk, swallowing it down when Jace looks his way.

“Clary was trying to reach you _all night_ –“

“ _Also_ ,” he interjects. “If this is another one of your attempts to win back Clary’s heart, then tough fucking luck golden boy.” Jace looks confused, head tilted and eyes blinking, and Simon ignores it in lieu of congratulating himself on saying what he thinks.

It’s a damn good feeling.

“Why would you even – it’s _not_ like _that_ ,” Jace hisses, growls, scowls his way through everything like the child he isn’t, and just... stops. Takes a deep breath, then whips his head so quick there might have been some joints cracking around his neck.

“Someone’s here.” Jace announces.

“ _Duh_ ,” Simon says. “My fuckbuddies.”

Jace looks taken aback. Simon almost laughs, if his door is not ripped off its hinges – for the eighth times this month, he thinks, darkly – and Jace is not standing there and judging him with his undeniably pretty eyes and unfairly high cheekbones.

Simon sips his coffee. “You know, one night stand, friendly strangers, temporary sex partners, all that without any money involved?” he chides gently, like a teacher talking to his dumbfounded slightly-mental student and Jace actually bares his teeth like an animal at him.

“I know what that means,” Jace snaps.

“Really,” Simon deadpans. “Cause I’m pretty sure the last time you got laid was around the time before Clary broke up with you, and that’s a long time ago, dude.”

“Forget that – where were you last night?” Jace asks instead, hints of irritation creeping up his voice. “We were trying to reach you, there was a downloader going feral around your neighbourhood. Isabelle was worried _sick_ , and you didn’t pick up.”

Probably because Magnus destroyed it two nights ago, after throwing a hissy fit of his latest break-up with Alec for the nth time. Simon feels like a total asshole now, for making them worried.

Even if they’re not practically friends, not even close to it, he does owe Jace his life. It’s not that big of a thing when you can’t die anymore though. Literally.

“I’m not going to say sorry, because that’s the eighth door you broke this month, which, even though it’s completely your fault, I will have to fix again with whatever money I have left.” Simon tells him, placing the empty cup on the sink and resists the urge to refill if just to make Jace uncomfortable. “So, yes, message loud and clear. You may now leave my residence and never to return. Shoo.”

The look Jace shoots him – it is definitely the unexpected, un-Jace-ish, wounded puppy look.

As if Simon has just killed Alec and Isabelle in front of him with cold blood, or something akin. Then Jace’s spine goes ramrod straight, and he’s back to glaring at Simon like Simon is the ban of his life once again.

“What is your problem –“

“ _My_ problem?” Simon cuts him off with a bitter laugh. “My problem is _you_ , man, can’t you see it? So you saved my arse, and I’ve saved yours plenty enough we should be even by now. We lived in the same apartment once, _once_ , but that’s it. We’re not even _friends_ , Jace, and yet here you are. Breaking my doors down for the eighth times – _eighth fucking times_ , you fucking _asshole_ – telling me Isabelle and Clary are worried for my safety.”

_‘Which we both know is a total bull’_ hangs between them, unsaid but loud and clear, and Jace deflates.

Minutes tick by seeming like hours. His old human habit of getting uncomfortable of the cold every morning he forgets to put some clothes on, itching to run back into his room and bury himself in the blankets, is back.

It reminds him that Simon is presently not wearing anything except for Jason’s boxer loose around his waist, Drake’s crisp white shirt hanging unbuttoned around his frame.

He’s glad that he’s too pale, doesn’t have any blood left to be blushing under Jace’s lost scrutiny; isn’t sure of what to say, though more precisely, Simon assumes it’s _how_ to say what he really wants to say.

Finally, Jace chews on his lower lip. Catches the skin between his teeth, the grip he has around the hilt of his steele loosen ever so slightly.

“I was worried about you,” Jace admits. “I know we’re not friends, but I want to warn you anyway, because I – _care_ , about you,” he says, pauses, and flinches when he realises the way he is currently spilling his feelings _all over Simon_ , baring his vulnerability like a fight he’s lost, sounds torn and ripped from his throat.

Simon blinks. Doesn’t really know what to say. “That is surprisingly honest of you,” Simon says, threading his words carefully. “Hey, do you remember that time when we were stuck someplace, and you insisted that we sleep together because the inn owner will be suspicious if we don’t?” which never happens of course, but he has to make sure.

Jace rolls his eyes, the gesture so Jace-like, Simon is nearly convinced. _Nearly_.

“I am not some extraterrestrial replacement of my perfect flawless human counterpart, Simon, rest assured.” And yes – that is definitely Jace speaking, complete with the drip of sarcasm staining his every word, the hint of an amused smile playing across his face.

And, for a moment there, Simon wants to say something. Something along the line of, _‘do you realise that you’ve been courting me by destroying my doors and texting me during weird intervals and asking me to lunch without meaning to because you’re afraid it’ll be like another Clary all over again’_ – because it makes _sense_.

Within the past few weeks, all Jace has accomplished is annoying the hell out of Simon to the point of being sexually frustrated which eventually leads to the rowdy bar with half of its people flirting with him shameless as ever. Though he is mostly sure it more has something to do with the alcohol and the weird vampire mojo or something.

Instead, he tugs Jace deeper into his flat by the wrist, feeling the pulse rocketing beneath his (cold, dead) fingers and manhandles the blonde on to the couch. “You’re paying for my door, obviously, so might as well get yourself comfortable before the technician comes, yeah?”

Jace swallows, nods – then smiles.

It’s the most genuine smile Simon has ever seen in _years_.


End file.
